Chapter 91
“I’ll join the game too,” Winter suddenly said.
Joseph raised an eyebrow in surprise but didn’t object. Instead, he smiled as if it was getting more interesting.
“The more players, the more fun.”
A little while later, the four of us were sitting in a circle on the grass.
Well, technically three and a half—me, Joseph, Winter, and the (former) sweet potato baby snuggled in Winter’s arms.
“Let me explain the rules,” Joseph said, pulling out two dice.
“Each person rolls the dice. The person who rolls the lowest number gets asked a question by the one who rolls the highest. If you answer honestly, nothing happens. But…”
Joseph looked down at the glowing statue between us.
“If you lie, the statue will turn into what you fear most and reveal your weakness. Don’t worry—it won’t hurt you. Just a little shame.”
For Joseph, this statue was like a keychain on a bag—always with him.
Rather than threatening people, he preferred playing games.
This statue didn’t just reveal lies. It helped Joseph find other people’s weak spots—perfect for someone like him.
“And once the statue is activated, it won’t stop until it detects a lie. So the first person to lie loses.”
I was glad Winter joined. If it were just me and Joseph, I’d have a 50% chance of being targeted every time. But with Winter on my side, the odds of either of us winning increased.
“?”
Suddenly, I felt someone touch my hair from behind.
Winter was sitting on my left and Joseph on my right, so it had to be Winter, right?
I didn’t know why he did it, but this wasn’t the time to ask.
“Shall we start, Izana? You roll first.”
“Sure.”
Hoping I wouldn’t roll the lowest, I threw the dice onto my skirt.
…1 and 3. A total of 4. Ugh.
“Baron Illin, your turn,” Joseph said.
Winter rolled without hesitation—5 and 5. Total: 10!
Nice! Our chances just improved.
Then Joseph rolled—3 and 5. A total of 8. That put him between us.
“So, Baron Illin gets to ask Izana a question.”
As long as Joseph wasn’t the one asking me, I could relax.
I glanced up at Winter with a bit of relief.
Joseph was probably dying to ask me something, but he wouldn’t just throw it out so early in the game.
Then Winter asked casually, “Where is your sweet potato skin?”
“…Huh?”
Joseph blinked, looking very confused.
“Izana, did you throw away the leftover sweet potato skin somewhere?”
I clenched my jaw and slowly shook my head.
“…No.”
I made sure to enunciate every word clearly as I looked directly at Winter, who seemed very serious for some reason.
“I don’t have anything like that.”
The statue didn’t react.
Winter, strangely, looked a little… disappointed?
“I don’t know what that was about,” Joseph said, smiling, “but I guess you two really like sweet potatoes.”
He passed the dice back to me.
This time, I rolled more carefully… 1 and 2.
Seriously? What kind of luck was this?
I handed the dice to Winter again, praying for a high roll.
…6 and 5.
I should have been happy, but something about it felt… off.
Joseph rolled next—2 and 6.
Once again, I was the one who had to answer a question.
Joseph smiled.
“So, are you not a sweet potato?”
“OF COURSE I’M NOT!”
I shouted, getting irritated. I was going to develop a sweet potato complex at this rate.
The (former) sweet potato baby laughed happily.
Joseph rubbed his brow, now starting to feel the weirdness of this conversation.
“I really don’t know what’s going on here.”
Still, the game continued.
I rolled—1 and 1.
…I don’t accept this game anymore.
Winter rolled—6 and 6.
He wasn’t even trying to hide how suspicious that was.
“Excuse me, Baron,” I muttered under my breath.
Winter looked at me with a calm, innocent smile.
“You must be cold. Let me offer you my coat.”
It wasn’t my body that was trembling. It was my clenched fists.
I had thought Winter and I were a team against Joseph.
I was wrong.
I was alone—facing both of them.
No one in this world can be trusted but yourself.
Joseph rolled next—4 and 5.
Even though Joseph usually had great luck, no one could beat a crafty, ancient dragon in disguise.
I glared hard at Winter, putting all my anger into my stare.
He just smirked slightly.
“Are you still afraid of me?”
Ah.
He looked like an angel holding a sword, standing in front of the gates of a burning hell.
My heart dropped with a thud, and I barely avoided falling for his trap.
That… was terrifying.
“Yes. I’m afraid of you.”
Even as I spoke, I glanced at the statue nervously.
But it stayed still.
Winter’s eyebrow twitched in displeasure.
“Fascinating,” Joseph said, watching the tense energy between us.
“Let’s change the rules this time. The person who rolls the lowest wins, and the one who rolls the highest loses.”
He must’ve caught on to Winter’s tricks.
“Agreed!” I shouted eagerly.
Finally, a rule that gave me a chance.
I threw the dice casually—2 and 3.
Winter rolled—1 and 5.
Joseph rolled—2 and 5.
“I win!” I cheered, pumping my fist.
Time to ask a question that would strike Joseph where it hurt.
I thought fast.
What could I ask that he wouldn’t be able to answer?
Yes… this one would work.
“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
Joseph’s smile deepened.
“Well done, Izana. That’s a simple but sharp question.”
He had always pretended to be a perfect, obedient son.
Joseph knew he was different from others—dark, manipulative—and he had to hide it.
So he wore a mask of kindness and acted like a decent person.
His worst moment? Probably the conflict with Oscar when they were young and staying at the Bluebell estate.
That incident marked the start of everything.
In the original story, Joseph saw goodness as something to memorize—not understand.
It was just a tool for survival.
His smile. His manners. All learned.
And most likely taught to him by Count Bluebell.
There was no way he would admit the dark truth.
Right?
Joseph looked down at the grass, deep in thought.
He stared at the delicate flowers for a long while before finally speaking.
“I think… the worst thing I ever did was not taking better care of you when you were alone.”
…What?
I quickly turned to the statue. No reaction.
Was Joseph seriously regretting not helping me back then?
No way.
He gently touched his chin, nodding as if he truly believed it.
“That really was foolish. I’ll never let that kind of mistake happen again.”
To him, a bad thing simply meant a mistake he failed to prepare for.
That was it.
Joseph’s evil wasn’t cruel yet.
It was still pure, untouched—like a shadow swimming under ice, not yet ready to break the surface.
I said nothing and rolled the dice again.
We all did.
“Finally, it’s my turn,” Joseph said.
Now the dagger was on his tongue.
And he was ready to strike.
Ah, okay. The game is a bit different than I assumed it would be. Good.